


do simulacra dream of past deaths?

by Driehoek



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, bloodhound knows exactly how to deal w/ him, if you found a murderbot having a breakdown outside of ur door what would u do, rev opens up... slightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Driehoek/pseuds/Driehoek
Summary: Revenant and them had… They didn’t want to call it a “thing”, but they didn’t know what would exactly constitute a “thing”. There had been… incidents between the two of them.--Bloodhound discovers the reason behind Revenant's constant twitching.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Revenant (Apex Legends)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 108





	do simulacra dream of past deaths?

Gods, people in this damned building pissed them off sometimes.

In the week surrounding an edition of the games, their contract required them to stay at the training facility, allegedly to ensure the participants were concentrated and focused on the games. Staying at the training facility had the opposite effect on them personally: it was detrimental to their energy levels. This was the fourth night in a row their sleep had been interrupted between the hours of 1 AM to 7 AM. They took pride in their patience, but lack of sleep had worn it thin, and they were  _ this close _ to snapping at someone to shut the fuck up and let them have their much needed rest. They were going into the Arena later this week and the sponsors were definitely going to send another stern letter their way if they lost this game or even got less than 10 eliminations. Atrocious. They firmly believed the Hunt should be respected, not commercialised, but the Allfather had led them to the Games, who were they to disregard him?

The sponsors had high expectations, and they were confident they were able to meet those, as long as the gods would stop bestowing challenges onto them in the form of Octavio testing the springs he attached to his prosthetic legs at-- what time was it even?

They sat up in bed with a deep grunt, rolling their head from side to side. Their traps were so sore it was far beyond amusing.

The faint glow of the night mode of their bedside holo screen displayed the time was just after half past 2 AM. Great. Absolutely fantastic.

You know what, they’d had enough entirely. They were awake now anyway, and whoever had the guts to wake them up at this ungodly hour would get a stern talking to from Blóð Hundur, maybe that would finally help. The sheer possibility of this leading into an uninterrupted night’s sleep was enough to get them to slip out of bed, quickly put on their maintenance respirator and heavy boots and stomp right to the door.

The noise had stopped by the time they got to the door. They weren’t even entirely sure if they’d heard it while being awake, but they were sure there had been a noise, their hunter’s senses were fine tuned to identify any kind of threat right away. Sleeping in hostile woods on uncharted planets while tracking prey had made them develop that skill. 

Come to think of it, it probably hadn’t been Octavio, mostly based on the fact he  _ continuously  _ made a lot of noise and right now, the dark hallway was dead quiet. The rough tile on the floor and the bare walls amplified every little sound, especially at this hour, and by the way their own footfall echoed down the hallway they just knew there wasn’t anyone around right now.

That was the moment they noticed the wall had been scratched right next to their door. Three white lines had been carved across the stone, more of an accidental brush with something sharp than purposeful cuts. They tried to replay the sound that had woken them up in their mind, and in hindsight it could indeed have been the teeth grind inducing sound of metal colliding with stone.

That did not answer their question. That only created more questions, half of which interlocked.

They looked down the hallway in both directions, looking for more marks on the floor, on the ground,  _ anything _ . Half of their brain desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but the other half told them that finding the source of this godsforsaken noise would solve this problem, and they’d be done with it. That seemed like the best option at this point, so they checked their pocket for their keycard and closed their door behind them.

Further down the hall, in the direction of the staircases that lead to the lobby, they found more marks on the wall, more aggressive this time, almost as if someone had dragged a metal rake across the stone in different directions.

And that was when they heard the other noise.

It was subtle at first. A rhythmic whirring, soft sounds of metal brushing against metal. As they walked farther down the hallway with growing suspicion, they found even more marks on the wall, on the floor, a small trail of destruction in a fairly unnerving scavenger hunt that they could follow right to the niche next to the staircase. It housed some fire extinguishers and a hose- they knew that because they had been forced to use them periodically whenever one of the idiots on this floor (read: Octavio) set something on fire again.

Right now they weren’t able to see it well because the hallway was dark and the blinds on the windows had been drawn to keep press drones from being able to take pictures inside, but they heard the noise louder than before, and there was another sound audible too. It almost sounded like someone choking, but the sound was too deep, too inhuman- 

“Oh-  _ Helvíti _ !” They cursed when two glowing yellow eyes opened in the darkness, startled in some primal way by the sudden realisation of someone being  _ there _ .

They took a few steps back, blinked to let their eyes adjust to the dark. They already knew who was sitting there by now, and that person didn’t exactly contribute to getting their heart rate back to a normal level.

Revenant and them had… They didn’t want to call it a “thing”, but they didn’t know what  _ would _ exactly constitute a “thing”. There had been… incidents between the two of them. Like that one time in the Arena, when he didn't shield his face while scrambling for cover when a frag grenade was thrown in the room with their squad.

He hadn't been badly hurt, but the shrapnel had drawn scratches across his face, and when they'd tentatively informed if it hurt, he had somehow allowed them to carefully touch his face plates, cupping the side of his jaw that had been damaged by the impact and oh so softly brushing his scratched cheekbone area with their thumb. He hadn't protested, he hadn't turned his head away, he had just maintained eye contact in a way that conveyed he closely watched their every move but wasn't uncomfortable. It had felt like their entire body was on fire, no, as if Þórr himself had struck them with lightning, a very pleasant lightning that made their hands tremble and their stomach flutter. Their glance had moved down to his lower lip a couple of times, he'd undoubtedly noticed, but the moment was immediately over when the two of them were interrupted by their squadmate Wraith warning for a sniper on top of a nearby building. She'd known what was happening, of course she did. In a way, they couldn't blame her for interrupting.

All of those things contributed to the sight of him sitting here being more than just unnerving or uncharacteristic. They actually got a sick feeling to their stomach when they saw his head jerked rhythmically to the side a few times per second, each sudden movement accompanied by an agitated whir of servos. 

They’d noticed he twitched before. His left hand had an ever existing slight tremor of his index finger and thumb, he pushed out his shoulders in an unnatural way every few minutes when he was standing idly, but none of those twitches compared to what he was going through now. Parts of his body were violently trembling, he was making sounds that alternated between very human sounding grunts and very synthetic sounding gurgles. His eyes were flickering on and off, his eyelids creeping up. He looked like he was in pain. Oh, no.

"Rev?" They were surprised at how clear their voice sounded, given that they felt everything but clear at this moment.

His head jerked up, the twitches still tugging at his movements.

"Leave me alone." The seperate layers of his voice were glitching out and distorting his tone, but his words trembled in a way that made it obvious he was indeed in pain 

"I will not," they stated matter-of-factly, crossing their arms to reaffirm their words.

Revenant uttered a low pitched sound that sounded like a growl, but he didn't protest any further. 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" they asked tentatively.

He huffed, and his right shoulder jerked back so violently that he involuntarily threw his back against the wall with the distinctive sound of metal grinding against stone.

They had a suspicion of what was going on. For some reason, they were the only person Revenant allowed to touch him without violently shoving them away. He sometimes even allowed them to do quick, small repairs on him in the Arena: fastening bolts in his fingers, checking the hydraulics in his shoulders, even though they were far from an expert. For participants with any synthetic parts, medkits often weren't enough. Knowing Rev, he'd probably walk around with a more severe injury until he'd run into them again, and gods knew he wasn't going to actively ask them to fix him. He liked to be in control, he wanted them to find  _ him _ .

They looked around the empty hallway to scan for any activity (none at this hour, of course), and they knelt down next to him.

"Did you get hit in the Arena?" they asked. To their surprise, he shook his head slowly, a movement which was then immediately punished with his head shooting back and forth a few times. He uttered a low hiss.

"So you are not injured?" they tried again, but the way he slowly looked up to them in a way that seemed furious confirmed he was telling the truth.

Then what could be wrong? They hadn't seen this happen to him before, and while they'd read up on Hammond Robotics simulacra, there wasn't anything they could think of that could cause this… Or was there?

"Revenant, when was the last time you powered down?" they asked.

He growled in response, a very deep sound that would've likely flustered them in another situation. Now, it just filled them with concern.

"No, seriously, please answer me," they said. "Because what I see here correlates you not—"

"Three weeks," he hissed. "Three  _ fucking  _ weeks. Is that what you wanted to know? Can you go back to your room in peace now, all proud you fixed the scary robot?"

Of course he got defensive. He always did when people got too close to comfort, and they knew they were getting into sensitive territory here.

"I do not want to fix you," they said calmly, "I just do not want you to have to go through this."

"If you think I'll power down just like that, you have even less knowledge of character than I previously thought."

Oh, phase two of his defense: personal attacks. They were so used to his bullshit by now that they knew how to navigate him exactly.

"Rev, no need for this, there is no one else around." They scooted a little closer to him, placing their hand on his lower arm. He looked at them through squinted eyelids, but he didn't pull his arm away. Another twitch of his right shoulder made him throw his back against the wall again, and he hissed, undoubtedly in pain.

"Oh,  _ elskan _ ." They’d let those words escape before they even realised what they were saying.

He didn't react negatively to it, the contrary in fact. His yellow irises shot toward them, and he let out a sound that was almost a soft whimper.

He hadn't powered down in three weeks. Three whole weeks, by the gods. They’d looked it up out of curiosity before, Hammond Robotics simulacra needed to power down at least 8 hours every 72 hours, otherwise they'd start twitching as some synthetic equivalent of sleep deprivation, but nothing as severe as they were seeing from Revenant right now. He always subtly twitched, they only just realised that likely meant he powered down far too little in general.

"Why don't you power down then?" they asked softly.

He made an indignant sound that made the looser plates on his shoulders shudder with a metallic noise. 

"It's not exactly a big hobby of mine to power down," he spat, "do you think I'd voluntarily go through this otherwise?"

They hadn't thought of that, and the realisation left them sick to the stomach. For him to not want to power down it had to be truly excruciating.

What could it be? Did it hurt him? Did he dream—

… Oh. Something clicked in their head.

"Do you have nightmares?" they asked bluntly. No point in sugar coating it, if he didn't want to answer it, he'd see right through any euphemisms anyway.

He looked down, turned his head away. He didn't even need to verbally confirm anything, this said enough.

"Oh, Rev," they said, it came out as a tired whisper.

They rolled their shoulders, suddenly overcome with fatigue. They wanted Revenant to feel better more than anything else, but they were so tired, so tired…

"Do you want to come over to my apartment and power down there?" they suggested, pointing your head in the general direction of their apartment.

Of course he huffed. Of course he uttered an indignant “no”, turning his head away from them. They had no idea if he trusted them, if he would ever trust them, if he could ever trust  _ anyone _ , but they were determined to show him that they could at least provide temporary safety, now, when he needed it the most.

“Do I need to help you up?” they asked, rising to a crouched position with a tired sigh.

He huffed again, tried to push himself up from the ground but a strong twitch of his legs immediately made him lose his balance and fall back against the wall, his head smacking into the wall with a sickening thump that made Bloodhound physically cringe on his behalf, a thump that made looser parts of him rattle deep into his core.

It was as if that was the last straw to him, as if this had caught him so off guard that everything that had hurt for way too long jumped him right this instant.

He immediately leaned forward, slender, sharp fingers grabbing his head, pulling his knees up toward his chest.

“ _ Helvíti _ , careful,” they breathed, concern flaming up in their chest, reflexively hovering their hand over his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

They didn’t even need to ask that. The way he didn’t even reply said enough.

His shoulders heaved. It was obviously involuntary, but it wasn’t a twitch, not like the ones he’d been having before.

“ _ Elskan _ ,” they tried again, but they were met with nothing but silence from his end.

Then, a soft whimper sounded. It was distorted, static-filled, yet painfully human underneath the synthetic layers.

Oh. Oh, no.

They knelt down next to him again, carefully putting a hand on his shoulder plate.

Another whimper, more desperate this time. Another. Then, he uttered a sob. It was dry, it lacked the stuffy resonance it would have had in a human person of flesh and blood, but it was very obviously a sob.

The sound of it made Bloodhound feel sick to their stomach with sympathy.

“ _ Hæ _ . Revenant.  _ Hæ _ .” They stroked his back, with the lightest possible touch they could manage. They had no idea if he could feel it. He could feel pain obviously, and he felt  _ some _ kinds of touches, but they had no idea of the specifics.

It didn’t help him at the very least. He hid his face in his hand and uttered a broken wail, which tied into the next, and the one after that. He was crying.

They had no idea how long he’d kept this in, if he even showed any kind of emotion besides rage and contempt, they hadn’t even thought he was capable of showing any other emotions previously. 

Come to think of it, that was where their weird little obsession, by lack of a better word, with him had started. They had wanted to find out if he was actually programmed to act the way he did or if it was a purposeful act. They treated him with more patience, less hostility, to get anything other than a mumbled “I’m not thanking you” out of him in the ring. Anything to make him show that there was a sliver of humanity beneath the titanium plating, and not just synthetic anger.

But now? Seeing him reduced to a trembling, sobbing mess? It made them feel anything but triumphant with this discovery. No, it made their gut wrench with sympathy.

They had dealt with teammates becoming overwhelmed with emotion before. On rare occasions in the ring, Natalie didn’t take the sound grenades blowing up or bombardments raining down well, and they had quickly figured out that she just needed a few minutes away from the noise and battle and a soothing voice to talk her through it in order to be able to emerge an even stronger warrior than before. They dealt with other people’s emotions better than their own, in a way.

And that was exactly what made this more complicated. Natalie actually showed a healthy range of emotions normally, they knew what she was like, they knew she was honest and open and didn’t bother with complicated façades, unlike  _ some people _ . Revenant normally hardly flinched when he was hit in the ring, and like this, he looked more profoundly hurt than they’d ever seen him from physical injuries. Well, that, and they had those inexplicable  _ feelings _ for him that made them absolutely not want to see him in a state like this.

So they did what came naturally to them, which was to wrap an arm around him and to slowly pull him towards them, their movements purposely deliberate enough to give him enough time to protest. But he didn’t protest. He allowed it. He allowed them to pull him in a little closer, he even leaned his head against theirs, his breaths ragged in between sobs.

“Don’t worry, elskan,” they whispered. “Don’t worry. You are safe.”

They didn’t move for a couple of minutes. They didn’t need to, Revenant didn’t seem to want to go anywhere soon. He still twitched, his eyes flickering on and off periodically, the joints in his shoulders popping and cracking with each sudden movement. They gently stroked his head with their fingertips, all kinds of feelings whirling around inside of them.

“I hate this,” Revenant suddenly said, his voice box still filled with static and muffled.

“What do you hate?” they asked, although they had a very strong suspicion of which direction his answer was going in.

“This. Everything.” He hissed out a shaky sigh, parts deep inside of him shuddered along. “This body. This was never what I wanted, and yet… Oh, forget it. You don’t understand.”

They were silent for a moment, surprised at a confession this honest and open coming from him. The darkness in the hallway and the lack of eye contact must’ve made it easier for him to open up, to suddenly make himself so vulnerable to them.

“I think I do understand,” they said softly.

“Oh. Good to know you were also violently shoved into a robot body then. Who knew we had so much in common.”

He wasn’t ever going to let them get away with taking a peek into his inner workings without a sarcastic jab.

“Revenant.” They cupped one side of his head, carefully turning his head toward them. He pretended to resist for less than a second, then allowed them to guide his head to the side. "No, no. I mean it. I understand this, more than you know."

"How could you ever understand?" he snapped at them, deep layers of his voice quivering with sudden anger. "How could you ever know what this is like?"

They leaned away from him a bit after this violent outburst, pulling their hand back, calmly waiting for him to settle back down. They knew what he was like, and they knew he would calm down soon. 

Revenant was clutching his head, his fingers restless, making small noises that could be caused by either his twitching or him being overwhelmed by emotion once again.

A pause.

Then they said: "I know what it is like when the body does not match the soul."

Revenant slowly looked up, his glowing yellow irises suddenly focused on them as the realisation of what exactly they had meant sunk in. He looked down. Looked back up.

"God." His hands were back on his head again, fingertips digging in the red, sturdy fabric of his scarf.

He knew they were right, and he couldn't bear it, he couldn't bear being this  _ known _ .

"It would be so much easier if you just hated me, like the rest of them," he finally said in a flat tone, yet there was an obvious sob still hidden somewhere in his voice.

“I do not hate you,” they simply stated.

He huffed, a sound they would’ve interpreted as amused in any other setting. Now, it just sounded bitter. “You’d be the first one.”

“There must always be a first one.”

“You and the solemn wisdom always.” Revenant slowly rolled his head around, the gears and joints in his neck crunched sickeningly, the twitches of his shoulder plates becoming more frequent.

They were getting tired again, now that the adrenaline and initial shock were starting to subside. They rolled their shoulders (still painful) and leaned forward.

“Again, if you want to power down, you are welcome to use my room," they said. 

“Oh. You you think I can stand up now? In this state?” He slowly turned his head toward them, lower eyelids creeping up in joyless amusement.

“I do not.” They fell silent for a moment. “In that case, I will sit here with you while you sleep, for as long as you need to be able to walk to my room.”

“Do I look like I need that? Do I look like I want you to hold my hand?” That was the final phase of his defenses, the rhetorical questions. It was almost like he needed the affirmation, like he could pretend the decision was out of his hands when they inevitably answered.

“Yes. You do.”

And with those words, his defenses were down.

Without further protest he sighed, leaned his head against theirs, and they felt a deep blush creep up their neck as they felt his hand slide to theirs, long, metal fingers slowly intertwining with theirs. They heard the irregularly whirring fans in his core slow down with a soft hiss. The twitching stopped.

He had powered down.

He would undoubtedly wake up with a nightmare soon, hopefully he'd have rested enough to be able to walk to their room by then. They weren't exactly planning to spend the night sitting on the cold, hard floor. Until then, there was nothing to do but wait.

So they leaned against his bigger form, making themselves as comfortable as they could, their face leaning against his shoulder plate.

And they waited.

**Author's Note:**

> so this was more of a character analysis on rev and bloodhound than anything else... with some h/c thrown in ofc. i hc bloodhound to be the calm, steady person that can ground the volatile rev, and what starts as a fascination with him on their end turns into them slowly falling in love with him. this fic can be interpreted as platonic but just know yours truly is the ceo of revhound


End file.
